


Expectations

by bouncymouse



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020), Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Almost Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Smut, One Shot, Romance, Smut, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:08:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24884326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bouncymouse/pseuds/bouncymouse
Summary: On this particular day Tifa usually prefers to bury her head in the sand, but this year things are different. They've started something, but pipedreams are a dangerous game and greetings card holidays aren't on this Turk's radar. Is she foolish to hope, or will her expectations be fulfilled?
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Reno
Comments: 21
Kudos: 79





	Expectations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arisa_K](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arisa_K/gifts).



* * *

Tifa Lockhart stood behind the bar, absently wiping down the surface in front of her. Though the unexpected lull in trade had finally allowed her to draw breath there was plenty of work still to do. It’d been none-stop for hours; bottles of wine, pints of beer, cocktail after cocktail after cocktail… most of them purchased in pairs by lovesick patrons that stared moony-eyed over their shoulders at their dates and partners, in case the short distance between them became too much to handle.

She scrubbed at a stubborn mark; a dried-on spot of sticky pink liqueur. She hated this day, _always_ had, but a tiny, naïve part of her had wondered, this year, whether things would be different.

They wouldn’t. They never were.

It’d been Yuffie’s idea to decorate the bar. She’d helped Marlene paint red hearts in the windows and had haphazardly scattered pink confetti on every available surface. The finishing touch had been the heart-shaped candles she’d proudly lit, most of which had led to waxy stains on the well-scrubbed tables when drink had made work for idle hands.

_We’ll decorate! Loads of hearts and flowers and stuff! They’ll lap it up!_

They certainly had. One punter had lapped it up so thoroughly he’d lapped the petite Wutain minx straight out the door. Tifa didn't mind, not really, but Yuffie had volunteered her services when Tifa’s regular help had asked for the day off, having had her own perfect domestic bliss to celebrate. Tifa had already paid Yuffie half an hours wage to sit and suck face before she'd breathlessly high-tailed it out of there.

It didn’t look like he was going to turn up anyway, so any inclination she’d had to clock-off early and let Yuffie run the show had quickly evaporated; she could hardly begrudge her friend a little fun on the most romantic night of the year. So she’d bade Yuffie goodnight and reminded her to be careful, the dutiful mother hen as always, and had felt a bitter pang of jealousy as the door had swung shut behind her.

_Thanks, Tifa! You’re the best! Love ya!_

Her feet were burning, her shoulders ached and her skin was sticky. There were a dozen different spirits splattered across her white vest, and the back of her neck was clammy beneath her dark hair. She needed a shower, a hot drink, her bed…

 _Him_ … The thought bobbed to the surface, unbidden, and Tifa shook her head slightly, as though to dislodge the notion. Thoughts like _those_ were where madness lay, and the last thing she needed was another complication in her life, male or otherwise.

A card in a red envelope had been pushed under her bedroom door just before eight a.m, and when she’d opened it she’d found a voucher promising breakfast in bed, signed by the kids. Smiling softly she’d abandoned her plans for the morning and had stayed in bed, curled up with a book instead of sorting deliveries and balancing accounts. Half an hour later Denzel had proudly carried in a tray of lukewarm scrambled eggs, and Marlene a small bunch of yellow flowers tied with a pink ribbon. Her heart had warmed significantly at the sight, and she’d been just as grateful to find Barret sitting amidst the carnage in the kitchen, eating the leftovers and humming along to the lovesick music on the radio.

They’d chatted for a while before they’d both helped the kids tidy up and he’d offered to take them off her hands for the night, wondering aloud whether she had any plans for the evening ahead. Tifa had skirted around the subject, deliberately vague in her responses, but had taken him up on the offer all the same. _Just in case_. On the whole, it'd been a fairly positive day until she’d unlocked the doors and the couples had started to wander in, dredging up the hollowness she so often felt but tried her hardest to ignore.

She popped the cap on an icy bottle and took a long pull without really registering what she was doing. It wasn’t her usual poison and Tifa wasn’t much of a drinker, much preferring to keep her head clear and her body functioning unhindered behind the bar. But seeing everybody else smiling and enjoying themselves left her thirsty for something to dull her senses, and the beer seemed a fitting tribute to the man that was playing on her mind.

More ridiculously frilly cocktails ordered. Tifa knocked them up with ease, shaking and stirring and pouring… All the while the woman that had ordered them blew kisses and winked at the girl she’d left behind, who’d perched herself on the very edge of the leather bench in her booth so she could still see her at the bar. She’d declined her change and tottered off, unsteady on her six-inch heels, with two drinks clutched in her prettily manicured hands. When she’d slipped back into her seat it wasn’t too long before they were both giggling into their cocktails, and they’d barely taken a sip between them before they too had their lips locked together, oblivious to the other patrons around them.

Tifa took another swig of beer. It wasn’t like her to begrudge other people their happiness, she was just a little wound up, that’s all. She ran her thumbnail around the edge of the label, loosening it from the condensation soaked bottle. She’d been unattached for a long time, by now she was used to spending days like this alone, although maybe Yuffie had the right idea. She seemed happy enough and certainly liked to entertain Tifa with her exploits, wearing her raunchy stories like a badge of honour. She was young and enjoying her life, strings very much floating freely.

Tifa wasn’t _that_ much older than her, but life had certainly made those years feel significant. At twenty-three she’d seen and done things most of Edge’s citizens could only dream of, though most of it felt like a nightmare when she looked back on it. She had responsibilities now, grown-up worries like bills and taxes and blocked toilets…

She had the kids.

Whatever this _thing_ was, it couldn’t continue; it couldn’t be _allowed_ to continue. There was no amount of reasoning or excuses that justified it. Her heart still sang, even so.

The door opened, emitting a gust of damp and chilly February air and a suited silhouette she was only half-annoyed to see. His late arrival really shouldn’t have come as a surprise. They’d taken to frequenting Seventh Heaven with increasing regularity since the remnant debacle, often a pair, sometimes a trio… Rarer still their boss would make an appearance and when that happened they’d acquire a corner booth and drink a little more reservedly, behaving with slightly more professionalism than they did when he was absent.

Even then her other customers gave them a wide berth. Midgar may have been a ruin, but memories of those black suits were still fresh in people's minds. The Turks had earned their reputation for ruthlessness, and it would take a lot for Edge to forget.

Tseng drank whiskey on the rocks. He never approached the bar but always paid the tab, tipping generously, and his rare smiles were often focused in one very specific direction. _She_ ordered spirits and mixers, or cocktails, never the same drink twice. Always the first at the jukebox and brazen enough to dance, alone, as though there was nobody else in the room. Elena would wave at Tifa and smile brightly, and all the while Tseng’s dark eyes would be fixated on her, the corners of his mouth tilting imperceptibly upwards.

Tifa had noticed the pattern early on. Elena never put on quite as much of a show when Tseng wasn’t present. One rare evening they’d outstayed their colleagues and Tifa had seen him lean into her, breathing words in the blonde’s ear that had made her cheeks turn pink. They hadn’t stayed long after that. Tifa wondered whether they were celebrating their relationship tonight, or whether theirs was just a workplace flirtation. Whatever it was, the other Turks didn’t appear to be privy to it.

Rude was simpler still. He ordered bottles of beer and made polite conversation with her in his rich baritone until his friends grew impatient at his absence and hollered at him to return to them. He’d roll his eyes behind his ever-present shades and apologise for their childish behaviour. Rude was always impeccably dressed, and a far more regular customer than Tseng or Elena. Even so, it was rare to find him at her bar without his partner in tow.

Tonight his partner was alone. As had become custom he sauntered up to the end of the bar and took the stool next to the hatch, resting his right elbow on the wooden counter and his temple on his knuckles. Tifa didn’t miss his slightly unsteady footing, suggesting an amount of liquor may already have been imbibed.

Knowing the routine by heart she pulled a cold beer from the fridge and opened it, dropping the bottle and a beermat neatly in front of him. He picked it up and tilted it towards her in greeting, before helping himself to a long pull. Tifa didn’t bother asking him for money. Whatever may have been going on between them, he always paid his bill at least.

Tseng paid, Elena danced, Rude chatted and Reno _drank._

She turned her attention to another customer. When she chanced a glance in his direction, his bright blue eyes were fixed on her. When she raised her eyebrows, a silent _what do you want_ , his mouth slipped into a lazy smirk.

Reno… Where did she even begin with him? In the years since the calamity, he’d certainly mellowed out somewhat, although she’d lost count of the number of times he’d turned up sporting a black eye or bloody knuckles. The Turks had undoubtedly been helpful following the rise of Kadaj and his gang, and whilst Reno’s appearance at the bar had been sporadic and unpredictable at first, his visits had quickly become something of a regime.

At first, their conversation had been stilted. Whilst the Turks had provided valuable hands during the trouble they’d still got years of bad blood to atone for, and Tifa of all people knew the damage their actions had caused. They’d lost so much at those hands, Denzel’s parents, her home, their friends… Victims of dirty orders followed blindly and to the letter.

Those hands were currently shredding the beermat she’d set in front of him, whilst their owner watched her work. She resolutely ignored him.

They’d touched on the past occasionally, on days he’d drunk too much and turned maudlin. It didn’t happen often, but, like all good bartenders, Tifa had a good ear for a sob-story and the right amount of liquid encouragement had revealed to her a man living at odds to his prior indiscretions. Rufus Shinra was funding the World Regenesis Organisation, she’d learnt one night his tongue had been particularly loose, their dear leader determined to balance his debt to the planet, and the Turks themselves had gone to extraordinary lengths to support building the city that now sat in the shadow of a ruined Midgar. They certainly seemed to be taking their quest for redemption seriously, and Tifa had quickly realised there was a tumultuous sea of grief concealed behind Reno’s sardonic smirk.

Realising she _liked_ Reno had come as a surprise. Generally, if he was alone, he’d appear an hour before close, where the space of a year had evolved their awkward small-talk into an often genuinely interesting conversation. He’d started to linger a while after she’d locked up, on the pretence of finishing his drink, his last bottle always taking far longer to empty than his others. Instead of insisting he leave, she’d easily grown comfortable wiping down tables and stacking chairs around him. He’d become something of a friend, though his quick wit and charming smiles had quickly become a lot more distracting than she initially remembered them being.

More recently their _friendship_ had escalated, barrelling recklessly into uncharted territory...

Tifa noticed that his bottle was empty. She replaced it with a fresh one, taking note of his wry expression as he watched the girls from earlier pawing at each other in the corner of the room.

“They’re missing a trick there,” he pointed out, taking a pull from the new bottle. “People pay a ton of gil to watch shit like that.”

“I’m sure they would,” she replied shortly.

"You should hand out flyers." His laugh bordered on sarcastic; a brief exhalation of breath. "Free show."

“I didn’t think you were coming,” she blurted out, the words leaving her lips before she’d fully considered them.

“Why’d you think that?”

Tifa shrugged, feeling foolish. “It’s late.”

Another swig from the bottle. “Never stopped me before.”

She turned away from him, busying herself tidying away the clean glasses from the dishwasher. “That’s true.”

“Busy tonight.” He pressed on regardless when she didn’t reply straight away. “What’s with all the hearts and shit?”

“Yuffie’s idea.”

“Right.”

Tifa sighed, turning her attention away from the glasses and back to the Turk. Being snappy wasn't going to improve her mood and she made an effort to soften her tone. “She thought it’d drum up some business.”

“She was right.” He took another glance around the bar, where the majority of the tables were filled with canoodling couples. “Here was me thinking this place would be full of lonely hearts crying into their Cosmo Candles.”

After tonight, Tifa would be happy if she never saw another Cosmo Candle. The ruby-red cocktail had been the drink of choice for most of her loved up punters and had contributed to the majority of the stains on her clothing. “No... There’s a definite lack of _lonely hearts_ in here.”

Maybe she’d put a touch too much emphasis on that last part. But she wasn't lonely, not really. She had her friends, Denzel and Marlene, customers... She didn't need any complications to muddy the waters.

She didn't _need_ them, certainly. A traitorous part of her wanted them, even so.

“ _Right_.” Perhaps her voice had given her frustration away; the scrutinising look he gave her made her face warm. He laughed shortly. “Maybe I should’ve hit New Wall. You can pay not to be lonely around there.”

When Edge had started to take shape it hadn’t taken long for the dregs of Wall Market to float to the surface and set up their foothold in the newborn city; _New Wall_. A lot may have changed following the fall of Midgar, but certain _physical_ needs remained the same, and a lot of people had fallen back into their old tricks simply because they didn’t know what else to do with their lives. Tifa wasn’t in a position to judge anybody for that. She retrieved the cloth and began scrubbing redundantly at the bar again. She’d fallen back into her Sector Seven life fairly quickly, at a loss for anything else to do once the adventures had ended and the harsh light of day had cast shadows on her future.

She rolled her eyes, used by now to his often-twisted idea of a joke, though not entirely reassured by his jovial tone. It was a thin attempt to provoke a reaction out of her, an invitation to open up to him.

“Whatever floats your boat,” she murmured awkwardly.

“I’m joking.” Another mouthful of beer, his eyes glinting in the low light. “I don’t have to pay women to sleep with me.”

He was grinning now, one eyebrow quirked mischievously. Tifa shook her head slightly, unsure of the correct response. The first time she’d kissed him she’d called it a mistake, and had been quick to name it such, where both parties had drunk a little too much and become a lot too familiar. Surprisingly enjoyable, but chalked up as something she’d learn from in future and a secret she was certain to take to her grave. He too had appeared thrown for a loop, uncharacteristically awkward as he’d beaten a hasty retreat.

The second time he’d had a bad day at work and had been spoiling for a fight. He’d snapped and she’d baited him, a throwback to his earlier trips through her door before they’d settled into their deceptively simple friendship. But memories of the first time had her anger toward him burn hotter, clawing its way beneath her skin. When she’d finally given in to her always closely-guarded temper and shoved him, he’d kissed her so furiously her knees had gone weak and it’d only been the sound of tiny footsteps on the stairs that had snapped her back to reality, before urgent hands were able to take things past the point of no return. Her pulse quickened at the memory, her skin warm.

Once was a mistake. Twice was a problem, and she’d been unable to get him out of her head since. The hungry look in his eyes when she’d ushered him out of the door had made her toes curl.

“Where’ve you been?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

“Around.” He scratched the back of his neck, expression verging on sheepish. “Drinking with Rude. Kind of a tradition.”

“Oh. Where?” Rude was no stranger to the bar; it wouldn't have been unusual to see his bald head follow Reno through the door.

"Heh..." He attempted a swig from his now empty bottle, another tell that hinted at a guilty conscience. " _Around._ "

She pondered his previous attempt at a joke. "New Wall?"

"Say... How about another drink?"

Tifa popped the cap on another bottle, handing it over with a bright smile forcibly plastered across her lips. A clear image had formed in the front of her mind, Reno lounging in a corner seat, a half-naked dancer draped around him, glossy lips and wandering hands...

It fit. Though his clothing was always stylishly dishevelled there was a definite _crumpled_ look to him tonight. His scarlet hair erred on the messy side of tousled, and a red mark on the collar of his already unbuttoned shirt could easily have been lipstick.

She'd been slaving away behind the bar, hoping for him to wander through her door, and he'd been sauntering around New Wall with a lap-dancer in one hand and a drink in the other.

"It's been a shitty couple of weeks... Rude needed to blow off some steam," he explained, tapping two fingers to his heart to emphasise his next point. "He's a sensitive soul. Can't leave him to rot with all this _feelings_ shit floating around."

"You don't need to explain yourself to me," she replied, a little too quickly.

“Used to be the four of us but Tseng and Elena had to _work late_.” He dropped quotation marks in the air around his last two words, suggesting that perhaps he and Rude were more aware of the situation than the lovebirds realised. “I don't believe in all this greeting-card shit.”

“Me neither.”

The door opened and another couple entered, arm in arm, followed by a woman Tifa assumed was playing the third wheel. The two women were unsteady on their feet as they made their way to a booth, barely wearing their slinky dresses and tottering on their heels. Their male companion looked smug as he slid into his seat, his paramour settling happily on his knee and slipping her arms around his neck. The third wheel’s expression soured slightly; she folded her arms and tapped her foot impatiently while her friend skimmed the menu and pointed out her choice. Reno was watching the scene interestedly.

“There you go,” Tifa murmured. “She looks pretty lonely.”

“That she does.”

She reached for her beer and wrinkled her nose in disgust at the mouthful she swallowed, the bottom third now too warm to bear drinking. She poured the rest into the sink and tossed the bottle a little too hard into the bin behind her. The sound of smashing glass cut through the air, dragging Reno’s attention back round to her.

“Drinking on the job?”

“No,” she lied.

“I would be if I had to witness this.” He waved his hand vaguely at the various couples dotted around the bar.

“I don’t mind,” she lied again, forcing her lips into a smile. “They’re happy.”

“For now,” he muttered darkly.

The third wheel made her way to the bar, long blonde waves tumbling wildly around her bare shoulders. She was certainly attractive, though her look was perhaps a little too polished. Glittering grey eyes landed on Reno and her lips slipped into a slick pout.

“Three Cosmo Candles,” she simpered, barely glancing in Tifa’s direction as she made her order. She strutted closer, eyeing up her prey. “Want a drink, honey?”

She’d near enough purred the question in his ear, and Tifa tried to bite back the discomfort that curled through her gut, turning to grab the all-too-familiar bottles she needed from the back of the bar. Whilst their previous encounters had suggested a level of interest in her, she doubted she’d be any match for this dolled up and slightly inebriated singleton on the most romantic night of the year. She wasn't entirely sure she _wanted_ to be.

She began shaking the drinks, only half-intending to listen in on the conversation. When he finally replied his tone was disinterested. “Say that again?”

The woman laughed playfully, swatting his arm. “Do you want a drink?”

Tifa had seen this charade, many times, before he’d started taking a keener interest in the bartender rather than the clientele. The scene invariably ended the same way; women would giggle and flirt until he gave in to their advances, whilst he’d happily drink whatever alcohol they’d send in his direction. He’d eventually head out the door with a prize or two tucked under his arm and when he returned days later she could never quite bring herself to acknowledge it.

She poured out the cocktails, fingers white on the shaker, annoyed that she was allowing the scene to get the better of her. Kissing somebody twice, an _enemy_ in the eyes of everybody else, was no justification to allow any kind of green-eyed monster to rear its ugly head. She was being ridiculous, and she wasn’t the kind of woman to start pining over anybody, no matter how attractive a prospect he may have presented.

“Always.” Although he smirked against the neck of his bottle, there was something hard in his tone that made Tifa pause. “But not from you.”

“Excuse me?” The woman looked surprised.

“You heard me.” He yawned. “Jog on.”

“No need to be so rude,” she muttered, thrusting a handful of gil into Tifa’s hand and snatching the drinks off the bar. “Asshole.”

Reno shrugged, ignoring the woman as she walked away. Tifa eyed him warily; it wasn’t like him to turn down a free drink.

“What?”

She shook her head, declining to respond. She wasn’t entirely sure what to say.

“Shouldn’t you be locking up?” He glanced at his watch, expression now verging on irritable.

The bar was still half-full, the happy couples in no rush to drink up. The woman in the corner was already half-way through her drink, either wanting to move on quickly following Reno’s rejection or perhaps just determined in her mission to celebrate her single status, but her friends were still fawning over each other, their drinks barely touched. Tifa didn’t particularly want the evening to wear on, but she didn’t want to cut anyone’s fun short either.

“They’re celebrating,” she pointed out, leaning on the bar.

“Why aren’t you?”

“I don’t have anything to celebrate,” she replied.

“Right.” He took another swig of his beer and slipped off his stool.

She worried that he was heading for the table in the corner, which was brave of him judging by the acidic expression on the face of the woman he’d brushed off. Instead, he sauntered over to the jukebox and began plugging gil into the slot.

When the first song started, brash and loud, a couple of people glanced in his direction with frowns on their faces. Tifa tried her hardest not to laugh at his game when he wandered back to his usual seat and sat down, grinning triumphantly. A few of the couples were already downing the dregs of their drinks and collecting their things together.

He took another pull of his beer, bobbing his head in time with the music. “That’s more like it.”

Tifa watched the exodus through the door, the romantic mood effectively shattered by the noise emitting from the jukebox. She knew she should be annoyed, but the evening was starting to wear thin now, and her till was suitably full enough to class the venture a success. Cutting the night short appealed to her more than she dared to admit.

“I’m trying to run a business here.” There was only a touch of malice in her tone, the corners of her lips still quirking traitorously upwards.

“I can see that.”

“How many songs did you pick?”

“A few.” He studied the bottle in his hand. “If these guys think this shit is romantic… Gods help them.”

“You’ve got problems,” she murmured.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

Another couple made tracks, heading for the door hand in hand.

“Reno…” She frowned, almost stopping herself from asking the question that was burning on her lips. It slipped out regardless. “Why are you here?”

He waved his bottle of beer at her in response, a poor answer that did nothing to settle any of her concerns.

“Right.” Her voice was a touch bitter, and she busied herself straightening up the utensils in front of her rather than meet his eyes.

The bar suddenly felt very empty, a noticeable lull after the business of the evening. Every swing of the door bought her closer to being alone with him, and nervous anticipation filled her at the thought. When she did glance up his expression was difficult to translate. The faintest trace of a smile on his lips, easily masked by another long pull from his bottle, and his blue eyes remained fixed on hers.

“I thought you’d have had a hot date,” he commented, the heat in his gaze tangible.

Her body warmed, despite her frustration.

“I don’t date,” she replied, eyeing up the last pair of customers. They were still deep in conversation at their table. The conflict in her mind was palpable; they were the only thing keeping her safe, but she desperately wanted them to leave.

“That so?”

“Never really had an opportunity,” she explained vaguely.

He drained the last dregs of his beer. “I don’t go in for all that romantic shit.”

In truth, she already knew that. She couldn’t deny that she was disappointed, and that worried her; she shouldn’t be getting disappointed by a lack of anything pertaining to romance with the Turk. There was a lot about this situation that worried her if she was being entirely truthful with herself.

The song finished, and the next was even louder and less romantic than its predecessor. The couple finally finished off their drinks and slowly drifted towards the door, all shy smiles and coy glances. She wondered where the night would take them, no doubt far away from the lonely bed and meal for one that awaited her upstairs.

“Night guys,” Reno called, saluting lazily.

They didn’t turn to look at him as they crossed the threshold. Tifa followed them to the door, pausing with her hands on the deadbolts. “Are you leaving?”

She suspected she already knew his answer.

He smirked at her, a slow quirk of his mouth that betrayed his intentions. She threw the bolts across and turned the key in the door, the clunky metallic sounds a death knell for any passing fantasy she might have entertained where she escaped unscathed. She should’ve thrown him out, she _really_ should have, just like any other dawdling customer at the end of a long night.

She wasn’t sure what stopped her. This was a _bad_ idea.

“You’re pissed off.”

His observation rang true, but she responded with a lie. “I’m not.”

He beckoned her over, eyes dangerous in the low light. “Come here.”

“Reno, I’m tired.” She sagged against the door. “And I’ve got to clean up.”

He stared. She sighed and headed back to the bar, aiming straight for the hatch that would at least put a physical barrier between them. Reno had other ideas.

He caught her wrist and pulled her forwards until she was standing directly in front of him, her skin smooth and warm beneath his fingers. Tifa leaned away slightly, as though she was trying to keep distance between them. Ever the optimist, he tugged her closer and pinned her in place with his knees, taking note of her sharp inhalation of breath when his grip against her legs tightened.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowed. “Why are you annoyed?”

He suspected he knew _why_ the second he’d walked in the bar and taken in all of the shitty, heart-shaped decorations. A traitorous part of him had wanted to bail on Rude a lot earlier than he already had, but as it was he’d only just managed to extricate himself. Excuses hadn’t been easy to find, though even he’d been surprised how quickly his desire to stay put and enjoy the show had evaporated. He’d left Rude in a pair of fairly capable hands and with his tab paid; Reno was nothing if not generous.

If he was being totally honest with himself, he wasn’t entirely certain what he was doing. Luckily for him, he’d given that game up a long, long time ago. Honesty wasn’t something his guilty conscience enjoyed.

“I’m tired,” she repeated stubbornly. “And I need to clean up.”

“Can’t believe you’re making me do this…” He shook his head and slipped his hand into his jacket pocket. “Close your fucking eyes.”

“Why?” she asked, her suspicious tone mirrored in her expression.

“Don’t you trust me?”

“No,” she replied, a little too emphatically. He’d have been offended if he hadn’t wholeheartedly agreed with her sentiment. _Clever girl._

“Fuck’s sake.”

He removed his hand from his pocket. Pinched in-between his thumb and index finger was a recently decapitated and incredibly battered red rose. She plucked it from his hand, scrutinising the balding patches with sceptical eyes.

“What's this?” She sounded confused.

“Shit… Hold on.”

He dug back into his pocket and produced a handful of petals, which he dropped into the palm of her other hand, a beatific grin plastered on his face. There was a hint of a smile on her lips that suggested his last-ditch attempt at sentimentality hadn't been entirely in vain. He watched her, like a cat that'd proudly produced a half-eaten mouse, and waited for his reward.

The glimmer of a smile faded and her eyes narrowed. She dropped the dismembered flower into his hand and tried to extricate herself from his clutches.

“Hey come on. I tried,” he protested.

“You tried?” she echoed, twisting vainly against his legs. “ _What_ exactly are you trying?”

Reno hooked his ankles together behind her calves, tossing the sorry excuse for a romantic gesture over his shoulder. Her eyes narrowed further, her brows drawn into a definite frown as she focused on the petals now scattered across the floor behind him.

“Now I’ll have to clean that up.”

“And?” He shrugged. “It’ll still be there in the morning.”

“Reno…” She sighed and stopped struggling. “Go home.”

“No,” he replied slowly, leaning back on his stool and propping his elbows on the bar behind him. “I came to see you.”

“Why?” she challenged back, folding her arms.

“Why not?”

“You don’t go in for romantic shit,” she replied cattily, mimicking his earlier words.

Hearing her swear made him grin, even if she was throwing his castaway comment back at him. Nobody else seemed to provoke this side of her, these petulant words and pouting frowns. Seeing the cracks in her usually calm façade was a real thrill, and he was very much enjoying the ride. There was something unbelievably satisfying knowing he’d managed to get under the barmaid’s skin.

“True.” He bent his knees and pulled his feet towards his stool, unceremoniously dragging her with them. Her eyes widened, surprised, and she braced her hands against his thighs. “But who said anything about romance?”

Her body was tantalisingly close; he could’ve easily tightened his grip and drawn her against him fully, where she’d be hard-pressed not to notice the very physical reaction her proximity had inspired in him. Instead, he continued to lean on the bar, very much enjoying the way her fingers curled into the material of his trousers, her nails pinching dully at the skin beneath.

She inhaled slowly, _shakily_ , not taking her mahogany eyes off him for a second. It didn’t go unnoticed when her gaze flickered to the deep cut of his collar, his already barely concealed torso exposed even more scandalously by his reclined position. A pretty flush had risen in her cheeks, deepening considerably when she caught his eye.

When she repeated her question her voice sounded far less certain. “Why are you here?”

“Why are you pissed off?” He countered again, inviting her response.

She shook her head. “It’s stupid.”

“Probably.” He adjusted his position slightly, closing a little of the gap between them. “Tell me anyway.”

Her eyes were fixated on her hands, her fingers tightening in the fabric beneath them. “I wanted you to come.”

“And here I am.”

“Straight from New Wall, with red marks on your collar.” Frustration was evident in her tone, but she quickly amended herself. “It’s none of my business.”

He straightened up fully, closing the gap so thoroughly he felt her stuttered breath against his cheek. His hands remained on the bar, levering him forwards.

“First of all,” he growled, “You _do not_ _want to know_ about any red marks I have on my person. It’s been a rough day.”

“Okay,” she murmured. Her eyes were wide, and her shaky exhalation was warm against his skin.

“Second of all, I came here _to see somebody_.” He metered the frustration in his voice by gently threading her dark hair behind her ear, allowing himself a brief moment to enjoy the silk between his fingers. “ _Who_ , by the way, is a damned sight easier on the eyes than anything New Wall has to offer.”

He didn’t fail to register the way she tilted into his touch. The tiny movement spoke of a yearning, suggesting she’d been imagining this just as fervently as he had. His calloused fingers lingered, tracing a feather-light path down her jaw and her nose bumped gently against his, her eyes cast firmly downwards.

They were so close that her lips grazed his when she finally spoke, her voice barely a whisper. “Reno?”

“Yeah?” He fought every single nerve in his body that demanded he should kiss her.

“What are we doing?”

He leaned back slightly so he could take in the confused expression on her pretty face, her brows drawn into a slight frown as the gears ticked over behind her eyes. He’d realised something fairly quickly, all those months before, when he’d first felt the compulsion _not_ to remove himself from her life and had instead decided to get to know her better. Tifa Lockhart would carefully overthink her way out of a burning building if it came to it; the woman couldn’t be spontaneous to save her damn life.

He got it, _he did_. Rude had a similar temperament, probably the reason he’d been landed with Reno in the first place; a sick joke on the Director’s behalf to force him to toe the line a little more faithfully, the yin to Reno’s often catastrophic yang. He’d seen the files they had on Tifa and her friends and knew the heartache she’d experienced in her life. It wasn’t a surprise that she was so carefully cautious about everything, especially _him_ , the man that had doled out a fair share of her grief. The first time he’d gotten a little too drunk and had been a little too open with her about his shady past it’d been a mistake, but she’d listened to what he had to say without a trace of pity crossing her face and _that_ had started a fire in his addled conscience that he couldn’t quite deny himself the warmth of.

The next time he’d intentionally allowed himself to drink too much, finding it easier to divulge his twisted thoughts with the help of a little liquid courage. She’d listened intently again, offering brief words of not-quite-understanding, but hadn’t thrown him out the door for his sins. After that, he’d _wanted_ to show her that he’d changed, though he’d be damned if he could pinpoint the specifics. He just knew he wanted her to see that he was slightly less damaged, slightly less _damned_ than he’d been before.

This was a very dangerous tightrope he was balancing; he could see that clear as day. He couldn’t quite bring himself to admit to Rude _where_ he was going when he’d high-tailed it out of the shady establishment they’d settled in, though he suspected his partner had some idea. Reno may have been reluctant to share anything personal with anybody, but his drinking habits were just that, a habit and the sudden switch from their usual dive bar to this far classier establishment all those months previous hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“You think too much,” he said, allowing his fingertips to trail further south to outline the hollow of her collarbone. Her breath caught in her throat and he _felt_ it, tugging on nerves far, far lower than his fingers. “Why does it matter?”

Reno wasn’t a fan of overthinking anything, especially where there was an opportunity for gratification on the cards. He ran from the lows by chasing the highs, be they liquor induced or more physical, and wasn’t about to deny himself any kind of satisfaction by wondering out loud whether or not it was a good idea. Of course, it wasn’t, it was a fucking terrible idea, but Reno was the king of the rule-breakers and quite frankly, he didn’t give a shit.

“It matters,” she whispered.

“It doesn’t,” he insisted, fingers tilting her chin slightly to force her to look him in the eye. “Sometimes you’ve just gotta take a risk.”

He grinned suggestively, the conflict in her expression clear. When her teeth worried gently at her bottom lip it took every shred of control he had not to seal the deal there and then, every late-night fantasy he’d ever entertained about the woman running through his head. But this was important, he realised, as some of the messiness of their current predicament began to mither at him. She was _torn_ , and somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind, he realised she needed to be the one to make this decision herself.

Not that he had any qualms about leading the witness. He leaned back into her, angling his body to allow his lips to graze the shell of her ear. She shivered in his arms. “You've never taken a risk before, Lockhart?”

“I don’t like risks,” she replied shakily.

“I see.” He brushed her hair away from her shoulder, exposing the fine curve of her neck for his inspection. When his lips pressed gently to the skin below her earlobe her fingernails dug hard into his thighs. “What’re you so worried about?”

His lips’ continued perusal of her throat had his suit feeling uncomfortably tight, the faintly salty taste of her skin only riling him further. She laughed nervously, and he was aware of the tension in her frame.

Her answer, however, didn’t appear to be forthcoming.

He chuckled, and his mouth paused its travels to rest against her throat. She melted into him, the tension draining out of her arms and the distance between them suddenly non-existent. He was very aware of her stomach, bared by her cropped vest and pressed against his groin. His hands found her waist, a light caress to the taut skin there, and a definite battle with his reflexes not to grind himself against her. _Was_ this a bad idea? He couldn’t exactly remember.

His breathing wasn’t quite so steady now, and her heavy-lidded gaze did nothing to improve matters when he caught her eye.

“Tell me to leave and I will,” he promised, mildly annoyed by the pitchy quality his voice had developed. The words stuck; his mouth dry. “Say it and I’ll go.”

Her reply was so quiet he almost missed it, drowned out by his blood rushing in his ears. “I want you to stay.”

Convinced he had her, his lips quirked into his trademark smirk. “Why?”

“You know why,” she mumbled.

“Tell me,” he murmured against her lips, his hands tightening their grip on her waist.

“I can’t…” Her cheeks were scarlet; the flush travelling down her neck, her eyes dark beneath her lashes as they hungrily watched his mouth.

“Show me then.”

The thrill of the chase was almost as good a drug as the release itself. Anticipation heated his skin.

“Reno…” Uncertainty clouded her voice.

“ _Show me,_ ” he repeated, allowing his fingers to brush the hem of her vest and higher, his thumbs tracing the lacy garment she wore beneath it.

She exhaled sharply. Perhaps he wasn’t being fair, he mused, as the pads of his thumbs slipped below the lace to skim the underside of her breasts beneath it. Reno wasn’t a stranger to the art of seduction by any stretch of the imagination, though he’d admittedly been a little less picky than he should’ve been over the years. He knew exactly how to break her, and which tells to look out for. The sighs, the flushes, the stuttered breaths… The way her skin had puckered beneath his caress, the way her body trembled against him…

A moment of hesitation, and he caught the liquid look in her eyes. She was fighting this still, despite every sign he could see pointing to the fact she wanted him just as fiercely as he wanted her. An unfamiliar feeling of doubt began to creep, unbidden, into his mind.

He allowed his hands to drop, his fingers skimming her stomach before coming to rest on his knees. “It _is_ getting kinda late…”

The meaning behind his words hung in the air between them, a white flag should she wish to wave it. She’d frozen in his clutches, the proverbial deer in headlights, and as frustrating as it was he knew he needed to give her the benefit of the doubt, though it was killing him to do so. He didn’t think he’d ever wanted anything quite so desperately.

The seconds wore on, hope bleeding out in their wake.

Tifa shifted her weight slightly, balancing on the balls of her feet, and gently pressed her lips against his. He paused momentarily, the frisson of sensation throwing him off balance, the tenderness of her kiss versus the slow friction of her body pressed against him as she lifted her mouth to meet his.

She broke the contact, eyes uncertain once again. He almost laughed, he _would’ve_ ; her uncertainty had no grounds, and there was no way she could’ve missed the way his body had reacted to her. But the way she was pressed so flush against him he could barely breathe. This required delicate handling, he reasoned, brushing his thumb lightly against her mouth and feeling her breath, warm and damp, against his skin.

Her teeth grazed her lip again, eyes heavy, and any restraint he’d been considering crumbled. _Fuck_.

He stood, too quickly, and his stool skittered backwards unheeded.

Reno’s mouth sought her out and she softened into him, the arm he wound around her waist only dragging her more firmly against his body. Hunger spurred him on; the desperation to alleviate the fire in his veins. When his hand brushed along her jaw, fingers winding through her hair to pin her to him, her lips parted eagerly and he deepened his kiss, more than happy to oblige.

Her fingers stalled, light as a feather at his collar, a whisper of sensation against the bare skin that lay exposed beneath his shirt. Her shyness was endearing, the awkward movements suggesting a vulnerability he could easily exploit to their mutual advantage. He was also no stranger to what _he_ liked. He slid his fingers along her wrist, guiding her hand to the back of his neck, curling her fingertips into his hair and squeezing them tightly; an invitation… She took the bait more thoroughly than he’d dared hope, her fingers clutching tightly into his ponytail and tugging sharply.

Reno groaned into her kiss, nerves tripping down his spine. His other hand edged lower, fingers trailing the back of her thigh before his hand slipped beneath her skirt and palmed the curve of her ass, rewarding her boldness by grinding himself firmly against her. Her breath hitched, her fingers tightening further in his hair.

“It’s okay, babe,” he purred, rolling his hips and unable to withhold his grin when she moaned against his mouth. “You can pull my hair as hard as you want when I’m fucking you.”

Her urgent whimper travelled straight to his cock and his fingers dipped lower, the heat of her tangible against his skin. The angle was awkward; he was barely able to make contact with his true prize but she gasped anyway, a shaky exhalation against his lips. He broke away long enough to gauge her expression and was exhilarated to see desire liquid in her dark eyes.

The flush in her cheeks had travelled south, creeping down her neck. There was a brief moment of hesitation before her hands slipped below the lapels of his jacket and pushed them from his shoulders. He shrugged it to the floor, her hands already working their way below his shirt. He inhaled sharply when her nails grazed his skin, making quick work of the admittedly small number of buttons he’d bothered to fasten when he'd dressed for work that morning.

“Say…” He pressed himself against her, hands skimming below her vest to settle against her ribs. “Don’t you have kids upstairs?”

She shook her head, pressing a chaste kiss to his throat as she relieved him of his shirt. “Not today.”

His grin was feral as he pinned her against the bar with his hips. “So no interruptions?”

“No,” she gasped, her eyes widening when his lips dipped into the curve of her throat. “Just us.”

His fingers caught the hem of her vest and he pulled away long enough to tug it over her head, his mouth already trailing kisses down her neck when his fingers skimmed her bra. He made short work of the clasp and tossed it aside, catching her wrists as she instinctively made to cover herself.

“Tifa,” he admonished, eyebrow quirked as he released one of her hands, freeing up his fingers to graze the side of her breast. She gritted her teeth, unease clear in her expression. “You are fucking _crazy._ ”

Bemused, he shook his head, opting instead to press her hand against his trousers, _showing_ her why she had no need to be nervous and very much enjoying the hungry look in her eyes when her warm palm pressed flat against him. Her grip formed of her own volition, her fingers curling around him and her thumb tracing leisurely circles over the tip of his cock that made his heart thrum. But her shy smile made him laugh, and she responded by pressing her lips to his nipple, grazing his skin with her teeth as her hand tightened around him.

Reno groaned, suitably chastised, and kissed her again. Her taut skin was warm against him, and it was all too easy to drop his hands to her hips and lift her onto the bar.

Her expression of surprise quickly turned sultry when his lips found _her_ nipple, his tongue swirling the sensitive bud whilst his fingers sought out the other. A light pinch had her arching into him, gasping her approval. Encouraged by her response, he pressed his mouth to her ribs, hands braced against her thighs, littering urgent kisses against the toned curve of her stomach. She cried out, winding away from his touch when he hit a sensitive spot over her hipbone, and, taking advantage of her weakness, he pressed his mouth against her skin a little more firmly, unable to stop the smirk that slid across his lips as she squirmed in his hands.

Anticipation made him weak, the gnawing pull in his groin demanding his attention. But he took his time anyway, driven on by the breathless sounds she made, enjoying the torment.

His hands caressed her legs, creeping slowly upwards to hitch her leather skirt around her waist. He trailed his fingertip lightly over the black lace he’d exposed between her thighs and felt body tense against him.

“Reno," she whimpered. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her teeth grinding so hard against her lip she could’ve drawn blood.

He pushed her underwear aside, fingers skimming her dark curls and dragged a calloused fingertip along her, slick and hot. Her cheeks were blazing, the flush extending down her neck, mirroring the hue of her soft, pink cunt. He allowed his finger to slip through her again, her silken heat doing nothing to calm his discomfort, the strain against his fly verging on unbearable. She dropped to her elbows on the bar, her stomach visibly trembling from the exertion of her awkward position, and he couldn’t remember ever seeing a more erotic sight in his life.

He struck unexpectedly and she cried out, eyes fluttering open as his finger slipped home to the hilt and the flat of his tongue pressed against her. Her fingers curled into his hair, so desperately it _hurt_ , and his cock twitched hungrily at the sensation. It spurred him on, another finger slipping into her and working quickly, his mouth mimicking the rhythm.

Tifa keened helplessly, unable to prevent the needy sounds that escaped her lips. Torn between anxious feelings at the exposure, _here_ of all places, her chest bare and her skirt hiked up around her waist, the bar-top tacky beneath her thighs; and just how _hot_ this was… Her body shook at the effort of holding her position and somehow that just increased the pleasure that coursed through her.

Her heat was building, Reno’s mouth pushing her closer and closer to her breaking point, his skilled fingers only making the ache worse, deep in her core. When he altered tempo, the tip of his tongue flicking over her, she shuddered and moaned, her body spasming around his fingers and her fist clutching desperately at his scarlet hair. Sensation washed over her, her mind numb to whatever concerns she'd previously had about their predicament, instead wholly focused on the tremble that worked its way through her limbs.

He didn’t afford her a moment to collect herself, dragging her onto her feet. Her legs protested, raw from sliding off the sticky surface and weak at the knees. He kissed her passionately, the expression in his blue eyes so dark she gasped against his mouth, tasting herself on his lips before he spun her around, forcing her roughly against the bar.

Her breasts and stomach pressed uncomfortably against the wood but she didn’t care; his knee knocked her stance wider and she heard him fumbling urgently for his belt-buckle. Desire pooled in her stomach as his lips pressed to her shoulder, surprisingly gentle, and then she felt him, hot and hard, as he slicked himself against the tender flesh between her thighs. She cried out when he sank into her fully, fingers bruising her hips as he set his frantic pace.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, one hand reaching for her neck; a brief caress and the pinch of fingernails against her skin, before he curled her hair around his wrist. She arched her back, bracing herself against the bar.

Already sensitive beyond measure, his urgent movements only spurred her on further, her voice a breathless plea as she cried out his name. He filled her completely, _overwhelmingly_. “Reno…”

His rhythm became more erratic as he pulled her harder against him, fingers digging into her hip, the feeling of her greedy cunt tight around his cock far too tantalising for him to apply any trace of discipline to his actions. The sight of Tifa, bent over and exposed, her skirt hitched up and her body trembling was almost enough to tip him in itself, his mind spiralling. He couldn’t have held back now for anything, and he didn’t fucking care.

It was high energy, frenzied, fuelled by _every_ thought he’d ever had of doing _just_ this, as she’d breezed past him each evening, smiling brightly, unaware of the torture she was putting him through. The act itself was every bit as satisfying as he’d imagined it to be, the sounds she made as he slammed into her only beckoning him towards his release.

He thought of her, the way she’d tightened around his fingers when he’d tipped her over the edge. The pressure built, verging on painful. Her breathless moans, the whisper of her silky hair against his wrist, the way his name sounded on her plush lips as he pounded into her…

He caught himself just in time, though it killed him to pull away, replacing her slick heat with his fist. He grunted, unable to deny himself one image in particular, the sharpness of his release only made sweeter by the shapely curves bared in front of him. Whilst his aim wasn’t particularly accurate, the vision of it running down her bare thighs was one he’d be hard-pressed to forget.

“Hold on,” he instructed, bracing his hands on the bar to reach for a cloth, grinning as he made an effort to clean up the mess he'd made.

When he peeled her off the bar, she was slick with sweat and shivering, her face flushed and her expression slightly dazed. Feeling more than a little pleased with himself, he lifted her chin and pressed his mouth hungrily to hers.

She returned his kiss just as urgently, her fingers reaching to skim his jaw, her body pressed flush against him. He took his time, savouring the contact, riding out the high. As his pulse began to slow to a more regular rhythm he untangled himself from her arms and adjusted his trousers.

Tifa stooped to pick her vest up off the floor, her expression one of acute embarrassment. When she caught his eye he grinned languorously and she mirrored it with a shy smile, the garment still clutched in her hands. He assumed she’d leave cleaning up until the morning now, surveying the mess that still lay around them a touch guiltily as he reached for his shirt. Something rolled away from his boot; he glanced down to see the shoddy rose, its petals ground into the floor by a careless footstep.

Not his usual modus operandi, that was for certain, but he’d tolerated far worse iterations of this particular holiday.

Tifa cleared her throat as he tugged his shirt over his shoulders. “It’s pretty late now.”

“Yeah.”

“You should stay…” Her eyes were apprehensive and her fingers wrung at the vest in her hands. “If you want to that is. I don’t mind.”

He checked out his watch. It was nearing two a.m and he’d got work in five hours…six if he pushed his luck and Tseng was in a good mood. The thought of trekking halfway across Edge at this godawful hour didn’t appeal, but it perhaps felt a little too intimate to stay given that he wasn’t entirely sure what _this_ was.

“I don’t know,” he replied, chancing a commiserating smile. “I’m not one for romantic shit, remember?”

The uncertainty in her eyes fled, replaced by something far more intriguing. He paused, midway through buttoning his shirt, as her expression turned liquid. The vest dropped from her fingers as she bore down on him, his eyes drawn to the soft sway of her hips.

Desire stirred, overruling common sense.

She pressed her lithe body against him. “Who said anything about romance…”

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for Arisa_K, who has not only been my sounding board for Reprisal but has also helped to drag me through writing this. Girl, you rock!
> 
> This was a challenge to see if I could write a sex scene that didn't fade to black...
> 
> Also, who writes Valentine's Day themed smut in June? Me, that's who :D


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